Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Catarina
My mind won’t stop dissecting the last twenty-four hours.
I pull back the layers from each moment trying to find something to help me figure out how the hell I’m supposed to get out of here.
Fenris attended a week-long revival at Crossroads, but beyond that, he’s a stranger.
They had to know him, though. You don’t just meet someone and then within a month hand over your daughter to them with as little as a “thanks for taking her off our hands,” right?
I can still smell Fenris’ soured breath.
I barely had enough space to breathe when we were in his office.
I wanted to keep my distance, but I couldn’t, not with his hands all over me.
His fingers trailed down my arm before wrapping around my wrist and pulling me down beside him on the couch.
His eyes never left mine, and there was a hunger behind them that made my skin crawl.
I felt his hand make its way to my knee, and I couldn’t move.
“You are a beautiful young woman, Catarina.” His fingers drew circles along my thigh as he stretched out the syllables in my name. “God doesn’t give gifts without expecting them to be of use, and you could be of great use. For him. For me.”
My words were slow and mocking. “You know what else will be of great use?” I jerked away from him, standing. “My anger.” He matched my movement and stood, taking a step into me.
“Are you trying to test me?” His voice was controlled but it didn’t hide the fury in his tone.
“You aren’t in control here. Don’t make me show you how quickly everything can be taken from you.
” I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but unfortunately for him, there isn’t anything left for him to take away from me.
My alarm blares and I reach over and turn it off with a hard slap. I roll out of bed, grabbing my toiletry bag out of my suitcase, and head for the bathroom. They dropped my things off before curfew last night, and I didn’t bother unpacking.
My fingers flips the switch, turning the low light on, the exhaust fan humming above.
The sound is drowned out once I start the shower.
I place my shampoo, conditioner, and body wash on the lone shelf while I wait for the water to heat up before stepping in.
I stop mid-wash when the pear scent of my shampoo reminds me of Mom.
Our hair is thick and tends to get oily fast. This is the only shampoo I’ve ever found that got me out of using dry shampoo somewhere throughout the day.
Tears sting at my eyes and I force them shut, squeezing them as hard as I can, forcing the tears to go anywhere other than down my cheeks.
I finish showering, step out, and get ready for morning chapel service.
I was happy when I didn’t see Fenris during the sermon, and when I scanned the sanctuary for Zedediah, he wasn’t there either.
The giant man I saw yesterday when I left Fenris’ office was the speaker this morning.
Harold. It was uneventful. He gave a brief introduction, and I was just thankful I wasn’t made to stand in front of everyone in some uncomfortable “Welcome to The Collective” spectacle.
I make my way down the hall and spot the lady who approached me after chapel.
Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and the sleeves of her black long-sleeve top are rolled up to her elbows as she mops.
The microfiber strands drag across the floor in slow, even strokes.
She didn’t seem interested in introducing herself, and honestly, I didn’t care enough to ask.
I look down at the crumpled piece of paper she handed me, re-reading the list of duties scribbled on it.
Breakfast preparation, laundry pickup and drop-off.
It’s simple enough, I guess. The smell of stale bread and over-brewed coffee hangs in the air of the dining room as I move around setting up the pots and pans.
As I work through my tasks, I rack my brain trying to find a way I can make this place feel like anything other than a punishment.
My assigned morning duty is simple. Chop veggies, crack open a few dozen eggs, and scramble them until they’re just right.
No brain power is required so I let the rhythm do the thinking for me.
The clatter of pans and the sizzle of food cooking in the skillet drowns out the noise in my head.
Eventually I eat a quick breakfast, opting for a couple granola bars, and move on to the laundry.
One of the baskets is overloaded so I brace my arms underneath it and shift my weight, heaving it up against my hip.
Clothes spill over the rim with every step I take, forcing me into a stop-start shuffle down the hall.
I finally make it to the laundry room and set the basket down with a thud and begin sorting through the clothes.
The rustle of footsteps catches my attention, and I look up seeing Harold in the doorway.
He doesn’t say anything at first, he just stares at me as I keep working.
Then, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks.
“He wants to see you in his office. Now.” My heart stutters and I freeze, dropping the shirt in my hands that I was shoving into the washer.
I totally forgot about our morning meeting.
I straighten my back and narrow my eyes. “Who’s he?”
Harold doesn’t blink. “He’s someone you want to listen to.” I hold his stare for a moment, but something about the expression on his face lets me know I’m not getting out of this. He turns around, and I sigh before wiping my hands down my front.
The hallway stretches ahead, and I take in the musty scent of aged wood.
The dim lighting above flickers, casting long, eerie silhouettes to stretch toward us as if they’re trying to pull us in.
His boots click sharply against the floor and the walls feel like they are trying to close in around us with every step I hear him take.
The knot in my stomach becomes heavier the closer we get to the end of the hall.
The door to Fenris’ office looming ahead.
Once we arrive, Harold reaches for the handle and, with a low creak, pushes the door open.
He steps aside before motioning me through.
I hesitate for a moment, remembering yesterday’s encounter.
The warmth of the fireplace hits me once I enter.
It’s a little early into the season for the cold to be settling in, so I’m not sure why he needs the fire.
I guess he just enjoys being reminded of home.
I watch the crackling flames dance, casting an orange glow around them.
Yesterday when I was here, I wasn’t in the right headspace to notice the things I’m seeing now.
The room is large but not in an inviting way.
Fenris stands by the large wooden desk and motions me over to the deep-red velvet couch. “Please, have a seat.”
My eyes are drawn to the long accent table as I walk over.
It’s cluttered with a mess of random items. The table itself is dark and polished to a high sheen, but the objects scattered across it seem out of place.
I focus on one item, a ram’s horn. It’s curved and dark at the base and it lightens toward the tip to appear shiny and smooth.
It curls into a sharp point, one that’s sharp enough to puncture.
Fenris notices my pause. “It’s from a ram I hunted years ago.
” A small smile plays on my lips as I think to myself, Wow, who would’ve thought?
He steps in my direction before stopping next to me, reaching out to gently touch the horn. “Some things deserve to be kept sharp, you know?” He pauses, then looks back at me. “A sharp mind, a sharp weapon. They both have their uses.”
I interrupt wherever he’s trying to go with this by walking over to the couch, settling into its cushions. Fenris adjusts his jacket and walks behind his desk, taking a seat. “How’s your morning so far?”
“Fine.” I keep my reply as cold and matter-of-fact as possible.
“I hope your tasks haven’t been too overwhelming?”
I shrug. “They’re fine.” He shifts forward with a low cough escaping his throat, he’s clearly expecting more than what I’m giving him.
“I wanted to have our first session this morning. I hold them with certain individuals. One on one, as needed.” I shift against the cushions, his words fill me with a sense of uneasiness.
“How often will we be having these sessions?”
“Typically once a week, but we could always meet more if needed.” He says this like it’s rehearsed, like its store policy or something.
“It’s important that we, you and I, stay spiritually aligned to maintain a connection.
” A smile creeps across his face showing his teeth that are too white and too perfect to be natural.
“It’s my responsibility to lead those under my care, and well, you fall under that category now.
” I keep my face neutral, not wanting him to see the wave of revulsion crashing inside of me.
He clasps his hands together and interlocks his fingers.
The look on his face shifts into something domineering as he studies me.
“Well, let’s begin, shall we?” He leans back in his chair. “Tell me, Catarina, do you feel it yet?” I blink, my stomach twisting.
“Feel what?” I ask.
“The shift,” he answers like it should be obvious. “You’ve only just arrived, but you’ll start to notice it soon. The way everything starts to align. The way your mind begins to clear and your heart begins to open. It’s what happens when you surrender to something greater than yourself.”
Surrender. The word makes my skin burn, but I keep my expression as neutral as possible, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “I don’t feel any different.” I try to match his measured tone.
He leans back, his eyes now full of amusement.
“Not yet. But you will.” He taps his fingers against the desk, almost like they’re following along with my pulse.
“It’s not about force, you know. It’s about attunement, and trust.” He lets the word settle, and I can feel him watching me as I look down at my hands, fidgeting my fingers.
“Tell me, do you trust me?” My throat dries, the feeling of a harsh and scratchy sensation makes my attempts at swallowing impossible.
I force myself to meet his stare. “I don’t even know you.”
His smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider, like he was expecting that answer, like he wanted me to say it. “That will change,” he says simply. “In time.”
“And if I don’t want it to change?” I ask, steady but challenging.
Fenris tilts his head slightly. He doesn’t seem angry, he looks more amused than anything. Like my resistance is just another step in his process, one he had planned for. He exhales slowly. “Then that would be unfortunate.” His tone’s now lighter. “Because it will.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“I am,” he says simply. “You’ll come to learn that about me.” I don’t appreciate the certainty in his voice. He’s speaking as if my choices aren’t mine to make. I lean back into the couch, crossing my arms over my chest.
“And what if I never do?” There’s a light tug at the corner of his lips, and something I can’t read flickers behind his eyes.
“Then you’ll be the first.”
I let the silence stretch between us for what feels like minutes before speaking. “There’s a first for everything.”
Suddenly, his expression turns. The amusement in his eyes vanishes, replaced by something cold.
The air becomes thick then seems to disappear altogether.
He leans forward, both of his hands are now planted flat on the desk, yet somehow his knuckles are white from pressure.
“You underestimate the gravity of your situation.” His voice is laced with venom.
“Defiance here isn’t just unwelcome. It.
Is. Dangerous,” he spits each word at me.
I feel the tension radiating from him; it’s suffocating. I can see the anger in him that he’s barely capable of holding back. The room seems to shrink around us.
A loud knock on the door suddenly breaks the silence, splintering the tension, but I still don’t pull my eyes away, defiance still burns in my chest.
“Next week.” His voice is now sharp. “Same time.” Then just like that, I’m dismissed.
It takes everything in me not to react, not to bite back. So instead, I let it sink into me. Fueling the slow and deliberate way I stand up. My palms push against the couch, my fingers curling into the fabric of the cushion before I let go. I don’t give him another glance and turn to walk away.
Another knock echoes through the room, this one louder, more insistent, landing when I reach the door.
I twist the handle pulling it open and—“Zedediah?” I stumble, tripping over my words.
I stare into his eyes. His hand is still raised from banging on the door, but he slightly lowers it.
His expression shifts as his eyes trail over my body.
I watch as his chest stops rising; I swear he’s stopped breathing.
Warmth blooms across my cheeks, and I feel like I’m sitting directly in front of the fireplace.
It feels like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
My thoughts become tangled, and I remember the way he shoved his body into mine yesterday.
He leans down, whispering, so only I can hear his voice, “Doesn’t take much to make you blush, huh?
” I squeeze my thighs together, the reaction is automatic as the heat from my face quickly makes its way to my stomach.
I break away, forcing my eyes down, focusing on the faint scuff marks on the floor.
I push past him, my steps picking up speed.
But, I’m unable to outrun the feeling of his gaze on my back. It’s hot and heavy, like he knows exactly what it’s doing to me.